Fireseeker
by Hesperides
Summary: Eragon is a Dragonslayer, trained to hunt and kill those he considers savage beasts and monsters. So when the very thing he hates and fears hatches for him, he has no choice but to turn to the Riders. But will they ever forgive him for his crimes?
1. Slayer

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Inheritance Cycle, this is merely a fanfiction.**

**A/N: The riders never fell; it's a world where peace and prosperity reigns, except for those who seek to do harm to those who rule….**

**Part 1**

His target this time was an elf woman, Arya, and her dragon, a green beast named Firnen. Not that he cared to know their names. They were just his latest job, nothing less, nothing more. Eragon took a deep breath as he surveyed the two, and ran through the checklist in his head. Not that a checklist was supposed to help. When one was in the art of cloak and dagger, one knew to allow for anything to happen. He knew that the woman was quite a capable magician, both from his sources and from what he had seen himself. The dragon, however, was young, and inexperienced, an easy target. Eragon was only paid to eliminate the beast, anyways.

And it wouldn't be the first dragon he killed. As a hired dragonslayer, the sixteen year old had seen the demise of many dragons, killing both for money, and for revenge. He had trained for six years, which was considered experienced in his field. But this time, it would be his first solo mission, after his mentor's untimely demise. It was about a week ago, when a young noble man from Dras Leona had approached him, the famed Phantom, Bane of the Riders, paying for the death of a dragon, the elf's head, and all the things in their possession. 200 crowns, if he succeeded, 300 if he could get the items and proof of their demise before the week ended.

Smirking to himself, he grabbed at the flask at waist, and took a swig of cranberry mead, before peering past the hawthorn bush that was his shelter at the clearing where the unsuspecting elf sat. She had been walking for the last half mile, her dragon behind her, largely due to the injury at the beast's leg, until ten minutes ago, when she had set up camp. Eragon knew he had to act now, before she healed her dragon.

He took a deep breath, and crept closer, gripping Niernen, his Dauthdaert, the only weapon that could kill a dragon. The green spear-like instrument almost had a glow to it, green and sickly. Composing himself, he quickly made sure his mental barriers were up, before he stepped silently into the clearing. Neither Arya nor her dragon noticed him, the elf muttering under her breath spells in the ancient language while the dragon hummed, eyes closed. Eragon grinned. He'd deal with her first. Checking that Niernen was strapped tightly onto his back, he drew his dagger, and ran towards the elf, pulling his arm back to strike what would be a fatal blow-CLANG!

Steel met steel as his blade collided with hers, and he found himself staring into deep, emerald orbs that seemed to pulse with emotion. The eyes narrowed, and she spoke, in the ancient tongue, a lilting, melody of a voice. Eragon was shocked. How had she sensed him? He was Shadow walker, Phantom, and Bane of the Riders, so how had he failed to kill someone as young as her when he had slain those thrice her age?

"Who are you!" She demanded, this time in the human tongue. Eragon regained a bit of his composure as he stepped back, her sword pointed at his throat. It was a Rider's Blade. He had heard and seen many of those, but he would love to have one like hers in his collection. It was green, like Niernen, but of an emerald shade. It seemed to glitter, and at the hilt was a teardrop shaped emerald easily the size of his palm. Eragon licked his lips in anticipation, before looking back up at the elf, slowly he spread his arms out, and let the dagger drop to the ground.

"Who are you!" She asked again, this time, she was almost curious. She probably thought he was a vagabond, a thief who merely picked the wrong target. She let him go, unless, she did a mental scan. But hopefully, this elf would be like the rest-too arrogant and confident of their own abilities that such a thing would never occur to them.

"I-I'm Thors-" Eragon stammered, putting on a rough accent akin to those seen in sailors and taverns. "Thors the tanner..." He watched as she relaxed, and sneered, inwardly.

"Oh, really? I've never seen a tanner with such smooth hands." She replied calmly. Before Eragon could reply, he felt a sharp, mental probe drive in his shield. He watched as her face crumpled in pain for a moment, before gazing up at him.

"Who-" Eragon twisted out of her reach, and pulled another dagger hidden inside his sleeve. Turning, he threw it at Arya, knowing that her wards would deflect it, but just enough to give him time to reach the dragon. She deflected the weapon, as Eragon pulled Niernen from its sheath, and ran towards Firnen, who was desperately trying to move, despite his injured foreleg.

The dragon roared at him, shuffling away awkwardly.

"Firnen!" He heard Arya shout, as he drew his arm back, sending Niernen flying as the dragon stretched out an arm as if to bat him away. Suddenly, a weight landed on top of him, sending him sprawling, Niernen rolling out of his grasp. He felt long hair brush his face, and realized that, apparently, Arya had tackled him. Groaning, he lashed out, feeling the sharp dig of his elbow sink into the soft flesh of her stomach. He heard a gasp, but nevertheless, she didn't get off of him.

Eragon kicked, as the elf knelt on his back, surprisingly heavy, and surprisingly immune to his punches and kicks. He heard her whisper something under her breath, before an invisible force caused his legs to stiffen, unable to move.

"Get off!" He muttered.

"You are clearly not a tanner." She declared.

"At least you figured that bit out." He snapped.

"Why are you trying to harm us? What a strange spear?" She leaned closer to Niernen.

"Don't touch that!" He shouted. She looked shocked at his tone.

"Why?"

"You might get hurt?"

"How dare you talk to me-" She paused, before looking self conscious. "Let me ask again, who are you?"

"Nobody." Eragon couldn't believe how immature he was being

"Why were you trying to kill me?"

"Your purse." Hopefully, he could convince her to think that he was mere highwayman. Suddenly, a growl emanated from his left, and he turned his head, only to stare right at a row of gleaming white teeth that drew closer and closer….

"Firnen!" The teeth stopped, and an emerald green eye was lowered to his level, glaringly suspicious.

"I know! But he has to be...Contact Faolin…..Or they'll question him…." Clearly the elf was conversing with her dragon, judging by the glazed look in both of their eyes. Eragon gathered himself, knowing this was his time to act. He could still move his arms, as he slipped a small dart dipped in poison from his sleeve. Shifting his torso ever so slightly, he took aim at Firnen, and threw the dart as best he could. The spike whipped through the air, metal gleaming wickedly, before burying itself into Firnen's hide. Eragon sighed. He knew it would, it was made by Hega, the Kingdom's best, and most feared weapon's smithy.

Firnen roared in pain as the poison spread through his system, and Arya snapped her head up, as she ran to her dragon, inspecting the piercing his scale.

"What have you done!" She growled, when she noticed that the little device had actually pierced Firnen's hide.

"What is this?" Eragon glared up at her.

"Let me free, and I'll tell you." The elf ignored him, whispering desperately in the magic tongue. The dragon moaned weakly, and Eragon knew that soon, it would eventually become paralysed, and die.

"Let me go, and I'll give you the antidote." He said. Although the beast was at his mercy, he himself was at the elf's. He had to get out. She looked at him, tears threatening to flow onto her face, before muttering a few words. Eragon felt the force lift, and struggled up, staggering over to the elf. Arya glared at him.

Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out a small bottle, filled with what appeared to be a pungent, yellow liquid. He stretched it out to her.

"This has to be mixed with the blood of a dying deer, and then applied to the wound." She gasped, but took the bottle, never the less, looking suspiciously at him.

"If you leave now, and find that deer, I'll be gone before you return." He prompted.

"What if you harm Firnen?" She demanded.

"Put a ward around him. You know I can't do magic." She did as he suggested, and turned, striding to the edge of the clearing, before patting Firnen on the head. Just as she was about to leave, she turned to him, one last time.

"Can I at least have the name of the one who has bested me?" Her voice was dignified. Perhapes she was curious. Eragon hesitated, before speaking up.

"I am Eragon."

…..FIRESEEKER…..

He stole her bags and a strange looking bow as he left, when the dragon wasn't looking. It was a heavy pack, probably filled with all sort of gold and riches. Well, he deserved it. That was 200 crowns he wouldn't be able to receive. Not to mention a nice looking sword for his collection. But Eragon had to admit, the elf was quite a fair opponent, a good swordsman, and a competent magician.

He had settled down in his inn, the Eastern Rays, in the city of Dras Leona, about 6 hours away from the clearing, and the fateful encounter with Arya. He was to meet his employer in 3 hours, and his employer would not be pleased. Perhapes there would be something in the bag that would appeal to him. An elven treasure? More money? Rolling out of the small cot, Eragon approached the dusty window where a small table stood, the saddlebags slumped there messily. He took a swig of his Cranberry mead.

Undoing the tight leather bindings that wrapped around the bags, he opened it to reveal at first several days rations of food. His excitement turned to annoyance however, when he realized that the 'food' consisted of fruits, bread and cheese. Not a hint of meat. He decided that the elf must have ate it all. Below that were some coin. Ten crowns and a few coppers, enough for the modest traveller. Groaning, he dug deeper until he felt his hand brush something cold, smooth, and heavy.

His heart raced. A jewel that big? Incredible. Eagerly, he reached both hands in, grasping the oval shaped object, and lifted it gently out the bag, revealing a large, blue stone. He gaped. Completely smooth, the stone had no scratches what so ever, and pinged when he tapped it. Setting it down gently, he stared at it, mesmerized, until suddenly, a crack reverberated through the room. Snapping up, he felt for his knife at his waist, and scanned the room. Another crack, and he looked around. Whoever this was, spy, or assassin, they were not doing a very good job of being obscure.

Looking down, Eragon caught sight of a large crack forming on the stone. What was happening? Why was the stone breaking? Was it possible that it wasn't a stone? He thought, as another crack formed. No, he prayed, as another crack formed, and another. Finally, with a last CRACK! The stone split open, completely in two, revealing a garish blue creature, tumbling out onto the table. Eragon stared in horror as it looked up at him, before stretching two large, translucent blue wings.

A dragon! He thought, fumbling for the flask at his waist before black coloured his vision, and the Bane of the Riders fell, with an undignified thump, at the foot of his cot.


	2. Rider

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Inheritance Cycle, this is merely a fanfiction.**

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, it was a great turnout! I really appreciate it! I hope this chapters okay, the plot might seem muddled right now, it will be clearer, soon! Also, since this is an AU, the characters might not be the same….but I assure you, the good guys stay good guys, and the bad guys the bad guys. Despite what it seems like at the moment. So…hope you all like it. **

**Part 2**

Arya stared scuffed the marble floor with her toe as she stood in front of the Elders, feeling herself withering under all those gazes. It was a week since she had gone back to Vroengard, a week since she had found the dragon egg she was responsible for stolen, a week since that attack, and that assassin. Now, instead of him standing trial, it was her, Arya, princess of the Elves, paying for what he did. She was beyond furious. But she would deal with that later. Looking up, she spoke softly in the ancient tongue, telling the Riders of what had happened. When she finished her narrative, did she finally look up, into the faces of the elders, scanning for their expressions.

Elva, the only woman, Brom, the rider without a dragon, Morzan, the strongest swordsman in the kingdom, Galbatorix, the magician, and finally, Vrael, leader of the rides, old and wise. She was dismayed to see frowns on their faces, hurriedly, she apologised again.

"I am truly sorry, Vrael-elda."

"Yes, well the damage is done, we must do something about this slayer." That was Morzan, impatient to act. He didn't look too upset with her, Arya thought, with a sigh of Relief.

"And what, do you propose we do? This is just another slayer attack of many, there are too many of them scattered around the kingdom to hunt down." That was Galbatorix, always the practical voice of the group.

"While that may be true, the fact is, this time he has a dragon egg." Elva spoke up, her piercing violet eyes alighting on Arya. The elf shuddered as she remembered the woman's extraordinary gift.

"Which egg was it, again?"

Arya bowed her head.

"A female, a daughter of Vervada. She hasn't hatched in sixty years." Elva frowned.

"That's an unusual amount of time for an egg to wait. Her rider will be special indeed. Finding this egg will should be our top priority." Everyone fell silent as Vrael shifted, and finally spoke.

"This incident is horrible, I agree with my fellows, something must be done. We must hunt down this slayer, and take back that egg. Arya, know that we do not blame you for this unfortunate event, but can you tell us anything that could help us identify this slayer?" Arya bowed again, feeling relief wash over her. She wasn't going to be punished. Now, she could finally get revenge on that slayer.

"He was rather young, I believe, for a human, ridiculously so. About 15 or 16, with brown hair and brown eyes. Medium build."She paused for a moment.

"Does he have magic?" Morzan inquired.

"I believe not, Elda, however, his mind was strongly shielded, and even I was unable to penetrate it."

The red robed rider nodded.

"Very well, go on."

"He was a fair swordsman, though…he carried what appeared to be a Dauthdaert. That's unusual for an average slayer, isn't it?" She looked up to see the faces of the elders, pale and shocked.

"This-Daurtdaert, of what colour was it?" Elva asked. Arya spoke without hesitation.

"Green." Silence in the hall, and then the clatter of an ornate chair. Arya looked up, to see Brom standing up, his hands clenched white at his side.

"I know that Dauthdaert. Niernen, the orchard, for it was the one who slew my beloved Saphira." His voice came out in a whisper, now, as he looked down at Arya.

"This boy….He is called Eragon?" Arya reeled back in surprise, and nodded. Brom slowed righted his chair and sat down, as everyone's gaze was on him.

"You are right, this slayer must be captured, for left alone, he will be deadly to our cause. He was trained by the best, after all, by the assassin known as the Black Hand. The same Black Hand who killed…..Saphira." Arya let out a breath as Brom finished his short narrative. Morzan stood up, and banged his fist on the table in front of him.

"That brat! I will kill him personally for what he did!' He turned to Brom. "Are you alright, friend?" Brom nodded, before speaking up again.

"No, Morzan. We mustn't kill him, for it wasn't his fault. And-I knew his father, and for his father's sake, I ask that we let him live for now. Bring him here, with the egg, and then, we can do as we see fit."

Vrael nodded.

"You are right, Brom, for vengeance never solves anything. But as this is a matter of utmost urgency, I ask that we send someone out to find him at once."

"I would be happy to lend my services, Elda." Arya spoke up.

"No, you should recover, as you are needed here. Galbatorix, what of the initiates, we should send one of the young ones on this mission as an initiation rite." Vrael inquired.

"In the senior class, there are three who I can think of who might be capable, although they all have their faults." Vrael nodded.

"Tornac Evanson, though he is unconfident. Cecile Larsasdaughter, but I have doubt in her strength. And finally, Roran Garrowson, who is capable in every way, except that he insists on fixing every little thing, forgetting almost, the true sight of his goal." Brom looked up at the mention of one name in particular.

"Yes," He muttered. "That will work very well. Send Roran Garrowson, and I assure you, that Eragon will be found."

….FIRESEEKER

_Roran turned towards him, his face alight with anger. _

"_Eragon, do you realised what you have done!" He shouted, shaking Eragon by his shoulders. _

"_Roran, I-" He started, but Roran raised his fist, as if to punch him. _

"_Save it! Look at Carvahall! Look at our farm! Look at Garrow! You killed him!" Eragon opened his mouth and closed it, as he saw tears streaming down his cousin's cheeks. _

"_I'm sorry father died, but-" Roran punched him this time._

"_Don't you dare call him father! After what you've done to him!" Eragon's eyes welled with tears as he choked out._

"_I didn't mean to, Roran, I'm sorry!" But his cousin wouldn't listen._

"_Our home, our future! It's all gone!" He turned to look at the burning wreckage of the village, before turning back to Eragon, an angry fire in his eyes. _

"_Go!" He spat, and pushed Eragon backwards, "Leave and never come back!" As Eragon picked himself up, and started running towards the forest, he didn't look back. _

Eragon woke up with tears in his eyes, the burning image of the fiery village imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He was ten years old, then, and remembered wandering the forest for hours, before he stumbled upon his savoir, and eventually, mentor, the enigmatic woman, Selena.

It was a day he'd never forget. The first time he had killed, the day where he lost everything. Automatically, he reached for the flask of cranberry mead at his waist, and took a sip. As he replaced it, his hand brushed something scaly and warm. Looking down, everything suddenly came back to him. The dragon! And what was this on his hand? A long oval shape, shining silver, imprinted on the palm of his hand. He remembered what Selena had told him.

"It's the Gedway Ignasia, and you'll do well to remember it. The sign of a rider, it marks your targets."

And now, he was one of them. The riders. The oppressors, magicians that defied the land with their arrogance and greed. The dragon jumped onto his lap, and snarled, brushing it away. Stubbornly, it clung to his sleeve. He was linked to this little monstrosity! How was he ever going to continue as a Slayer?

"Get off!" He muttered, and wrench the thing off before tossing it onto his bed, where it stared at him angrily. He snorted, and turned away. He had been out for quite a while, for the sun was setting now, and the tavern was getting louder by the second, hordes of men coming for their nightly drink. He had to meet his employer soon, and he winced as he thought about the idea. Lord Broac would not be happy, ad that meant he would probably never be welcome in Dras Leona again. If he survived the meeting. Grunting, he walked over to his saddlebags, and pulled out a pair of leather gloves, with the fingers cut off. He slipped them on as he walked towards the door, as he stepped outside, what accompanied him was a screech of some sort, and quickly, Eragon spun around.

It was the dragon. Moments later, it flung itself at him. He quickly disengaged it, and stuff it back into the room.

"Stay!" He whispered viciously, and slammed the door again. Moments later, the whining began again. An old man, his room next to Eragon's opened his door curiously, before scrutinizing Eragon.

"It's my cat," He explained, a pained smile on his face. "My sister gave him to me for my birthday-" SLAM. The door closed before he could finish. Eragon kept the smile for a moment longer, before turning on his heels and strolling into the room. He would strangle that dragon!

Thirty minutes, and have a flask of Cranberry Mead later, a dismayed Eragon walked out, a curiously large hood draped over his shoulder. Eragon shuddered as he felt the scaly back of the dragon brush his, as he curled up in the hood. Walking down stairs, he immediately let himself relax as the smell of food and the sounds of singing rang in his ears. Choosing a seat near the fireplace, yet in the shadows, he ordered a large steak and a flagon of Cranberry mead. One of the reasons he had chosen to stay at this very establishment was because of its reputed mead. Sure enough, all around him, overflowing mugs where emptied by already tipsy men.

"' 'Ere you are, Sir." The serving girl set down a tray and his glass, and Eragon's mouth watered at the sight of the delicious food. Stabbing his fork in greedily, he bit out a large clunk, letting the flavours roll off his tongue. He was just about to wash it down with a sip of the cranberry mead, when a peep came out of his hood. He frowned, and took a sip. Another peep, and suddenly, Eragon was gripped by the sense of overwhelming hunger from the little beast.

"Shut it, I'll deal with you later." He growled, before taking another bite.

"Ow!" He cried, as he felt claws dig into his shoulder. That little monster! Carefully, aware of the few gazes that where cast his way, he cut out a chunk of the steak, and slipped in into his right hand, and made as if he was scratching his back, instead he stuck his hand into the hood, and dropped the meat, slipping it out before anyone could notice. Satisfied that the dragon was going to stay good and quiet for now, he went back to his food, only to find a large shadow blocking his light. Looking up, he stared into the unmoving faces of two huge men, dressed as farmers.

Broac's men.

"Our lord wishes to speak with you, slayer." The one on the left side, sporting a long beard, and long, dirty blond hair tied back into a braid.

"It's about the job." Eragon nodded, and taking out his handkerchief, wiped his mouth, delicately. Reaching for his flagon, he took another sip, before folding his hands in front of his, and looking serenely into the faces of the men. Time to be the bearer of bad news, he thought grimly, and spoke.

"Ah, the job. Well, unfortunately, due to unfortunate circumstances, the outcome was not exactly what and of us would have hoped." The men's faces tightened.

"You're coming with us, Beard growled, before the grabbed Eragon's arms and hauled him to his feet. Quickly, he slipped a dagger out of his sleeve, only to stabbing it into the thigh of the other man, a bald, stocky, guy, only to have it glance off. They were warded. Why was he surprised? He gasped as Beard slipped a knife under his throat, and whispered into his ear.

"Walk. Or else…." Stormily, Eragon marched out of the tavern flanked on two sides by the men, making extra sure to jostle Bald on the way. As he walked past the horde of staring customers, not one of them lifted a finger. Eragon snorted in his head. In a world without riders, he thought, this would never happen. And they say they preach peace and good will…. Of course, he wasn't especially worried about Broac, little did the man know, Eragon had planted several disks in Broac house, when he went in as a gardener, a week ago. Laden with a spell that caused them to explode in three weeks unless removed, he could use them as collateral.

As he was roughly pulled out of the tavern, Eragon found his hands bound in front of him, and a bad pulled over his head. Then, he was slung over one of the men's shoulder, with the breath knocked out of him. He caught himself worrying about the dragon for a moment before reminding himself that it would in fact be beneficial to him if the little monster got lost and died. But he couldn't help but feel a slight shiver of relief as he felt little claws dig in deeper into his back.

He felt himself carried onto what must have been a boat, where he was dumped, unceremoniously, on a cold bench. In the distance, he could hear drunken singing, mixed with quiet laughter. Happy sounds. Dras Leona was quite beautiful, after all, when one wasn't being dragged towards his death. But at the moment, he barely cared. It was so peaceful, and warm, that he leaned forward, and promptly fell asleep.

A rough hand jerked him after, and Eragon blinked disorientated, wondering why it was so dark. Then, his memories flooded back into him, and he realized what had happened. The dragon was still on his back, its solid weight almost comforting, reminding him that he wasn't alone. He felt himself being picked up again, carried, down numerous staircases, and though many halls. All the while, the kidnappers stayed strangely silent. Finally, after a long time, he was dropped, once again, this time onto a hard, wooden chair. The bag was whipped off his head, and Eragon blinked in the sudden light coming from the torches.

He was in what seemed to be a basement, an averaged sized cement room, with a small ceiling set high into the wall. In front of him, stood a grinning Lord Broac.

"You." He growled, and then spluttered, reaching automatically for his hip flask. Thankfully, it was still there, and Broac watched with amusement as Eragon struggled to uncork the bottle with his bound hands, before taking a messy slurp. Replacing the cork was easier, and now, he gripped it in his hands, and the warm fire of the Cranberry mead spread through his system.

"Eragon, Eragon, Eragon. You are too young to drink, you know. Right now you should be thinking about things like woman and work." Broac said as he stepped forward quietly. Eragon noticed the goons melt into the shadows behind him.

"You know my-"

"Name, of course. Do you think that I would hire the elusive Phantom without doing a little research of my own? You impress me, though I admit, acting like a young and naïve child, and then hiding this in my chambers." He held out something, and Eragon's heart sank when he saw it was one of the disks he had planted. But it was only one of many-

"And these." Broac opened his other hand, revealing seven other disks, gleaming silver in the torchlight. Eragon's heart sank.

"I don't know what they are, and I thought we had a deal!" He said. Broac smiled at him, his handsome face contorted. Twisting a lock of golden hair, he replied,

"We had, you mean. Here I was, thinking you were on my side, when you go and betray me!"

"Says the man who attacks his ally and then ties them up! Look, the target was stronger than any of us had anticipated. It wasn't any of our faults. Just know that I forgive you and-" Broac gave a bark of laughter.

"Aren't you a cheeky one! Ra'zac!" From behind him, two tall menacing figures stepped out of the shadows, dark cloaks covering their twisted bodies. Broac nodded, and one of them started towards Eragon, staring right at him. Eragon felt his entire body freeze up. He couldn't move! The figure got closer and closer, before bending down over Eragon. A gloved hand reached out, and drew a trembling blue shape out of his hood. His eyes widened. The dragon! The figure hissed something, and Eragon was assaulted by an explosion of bad breath. Rotting fruit, mead, and fungus. He turned his head, disgusted.

"I knew it!" Came Broac's triumphant voice, and Eragon looked to see the dragon wriggling as Broac held it by the scruff of its neck.

"You're a rider!"

"It's not as if I wanted to be!" Broac ignored him.

"Riders….They are the evil of the world. Ignorance, Greed, Jealousy, is what they preach. They think they're so high and mighty, simply because they are bonded with a dragon. A mere animal!"

"Would you care to say that to a grown dragon's face?" A voice called out, hard. Everyone, Eragon, Broac, and the henchmen whirled around, only to find a young man crouching out the window to the room, the bars that had previously been laid there melted away. He had dark hair, and dark eyes, and a stubborn, square jaw. His blood red cloak draped over his muscular body.

"Who are you!" Broac demanded angrily.

The man leaped off the sill of the window, and landed lightly on his feet. He stared straight at Broac as he spoke, and somehow, his voice was choked with emotion.

" I am Murtagh," he said, before the cement ceiling shook, and with a tremendous crash, a ruby red dragon landed in the space in front of him. "And this, is Thorn."

**So, our order of characters are almost complete….I hope that everything was okay, I'm pretty satisfied with everything. Although I have pretty much everyone down pat, I've been debating on what to make Murtagh's personality be. Is he going to be dark, and tragic, or innocent and childish? Let me know what you think, so as always, review! **


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